


this earth makes sanctuary where I stand

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Kairos (Time) Series - L'Engle
Genre: Community: halfamoon, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:58:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg makes some decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this earth makes sanctuary where I stand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/gifts).



> For gloss for halfamoon 2010. Inspired by Marilyn Hacker's "Exiles" (from whence the title comes).

1.

Meg doesn't remember the first time Mother and Father took her to the star-watching rock. It's always been there, the same way Mother has always been there, and even when Father was gone, before Meg and Charles Wallace and Calvin brought him home.

The wind blows, stirring the hair on her neck and slipping cold fingers down the back of her sweater. She shivers, watching the fallen leaves swirl along the ground. Dampness seeps into her bones through her tennis shoes and corduroys, but she doesn't move. She imagines herself as part of the rock, imagines the rock's connection to the earth, closes her eyes and sees the earth spinning in space. She opens them, and is back in the familiarity of the back garden, the stone wall comfortingly sturdy and the star-watching rock solid against her back.

She thinks about leaving, and shivers again.

Decision made, Meg stands and dusts the dirt off the back of her pants. It will be a long commute, but it will be worth it to be home every night. She'll mail the acceptance letter in the morning.

*

2.

Meg tries to ignore the rumors. When she's in a good mood, they make her laugh, imagining her oblivious husband dealing with flirtatious colleagues (and the flirtatious wives of colleagues). When she's in a bad mood, they remind her how lucky she is. She trusts Calvin implicitly, knows their marriage is stronger than most, knows they're both in it for the long haul and willing to put the effort into making it work. But sometimes, after they've had a fight (her temper is no longer the uncontrollable fury it was during her teenage years, but it still flares to life on occasion), she wonders. She's not settled down enough to kythe, to let the warmth of his love wash over her and sooth her prickly skin, and he's distracted by his presentation, by the strain of having to make a good impression on potential funders, by the possibility of moving their young family halfway around the world to continue his work and the recurring arguments they have about it.

She's pregnant for the third time in five years, and even with her parents' help, sometimes she's overwhelmed. This fundraising reception is the last straw--she's tired of Calvin's colleagues treating her like a brainless baby machine, but even worse than that is the pity that she sees in their eyes, the look that says she's settled, she's squandered her potential, let her talent go to waste.

She wanders out of the stuffy ballroom and into the back garden, the moon full and bright above. She slips down an unlit path, trusting the moonlight to guide her, and finds a stone fountain--a boy riding a dolphin--in the center of the clearing. She sits on the edge, out of range of the fitfully spraying water from the dolphin's mouth, and lets her fingers trail along the cool stone, gaze turned up towards the stars. The hotel is too brightly lit to see them clearly, but she knows they're there, comforting in their orbits. She breathes in the scent of fresh-mown grass, green and full of life, and puts a hand over her belly when the baby kicks in response.

"I hope he doesn't have allergies," Calvin says, sitting down beside her and slipping an arm around her, his hand large and warm over hers.

"Is there a lot of grass on Gaea?" she asks, tipping her head back against his shoulder, admiring the fine lines of his profile, limned with silver in the moonlight.

"No."

"Then I don't think we need to worry."

"You're that sure we'll get the grant?"

She laughs. "I'm that sure no one in the room could resist the brilliant Dr. O'Keefe."

It's his turn to huff out a soft laugh, his coffee-scented breath stirring her hair gently. He presses a kiss against her temple. "I'm sorry," he says, opening the connection between them.

Meg closes her eyes and sinks into the warmth of his love, edged with the rue of his contrition. "I know." She sighs and snuggles against him. "So am I." The baby kicks again, and Meg shifts, trying to find a comfortable spot for the three of them. "I just wish it was easier, sometimes."

"Since when have we ever done anything the easy way?"

"This is pretty easy." She cants her head to look at him and grins.

"Yeah," he says, smiling in response. "I guess it is."

*

3.

Meg digs her toes into the cool, damp sand and lets her head fall back to stare up at the crystal clear, blue sky.

She can hear the kids in the distance, loading into the van to go shopping for school supplies. They're old enough to go on their own--they all have lists of what they need, and Polly's got a credit card if the cash she gave them isn't enough.

She thinks about the smell of a new marble composition notebook, the smooth glide of a new pen against the blue-lined paper. She thinks about the squeak of a dry-erase marker on a whiteboard, the flurry of calculations spilling across the wall like the waves that lap at the shore. She thinks of long nights of frustration, when her calculations don't make sense and she just wants to throw her books across the room, long days spent in the haze of revelation when she finally figures out where she went wrong.

All the old doubts rush in like the tide currently tickling her ankles, and she wonders if she's up to the work, the relentless weeks of studying, the hours of tests. The tide rushes out, and takes her doubts with it.

She turns and makes her way back up to the house. "Wait," she says. "I'm coming with you." She ignores the aggrieved cries of Mom, and We can do it ourselves, and cups the cheek of her youngest son, soothing him out of a pout. "I'm sure you can, Johnny. But I need to buy my own supplies for school."

Polly catches her eye over Rosey's head. "You're doing it, then? You're going back to school?"

"Yes," Meg says, and it's a relief to have the secret finally out in the open. She and Calvin have been discussing it for so long that she doesn't want to talk about it anymore. She's just glad the decision is made.

She's almost knocked off her feet by the excited hugs from her kids, all of them talking and laughing and encouraging her.

"I call shotgun," she says when they've quieted a little. "Now everybody buckle up." She has to raise her voice again to be heard over the rising argument about who gets to sit where in the van, but the noise is joyful, and it makes her eyes sting with happy tears.

Meg has always liked shopping for school supplies. It always feels like a new beginning.

end

*

**Author's Note:**

> it's been years since I've read the books, so I'm not sure about the ages of Meg and Calvin's kids, or when they moved to Gaea, so I hope I didn't get the timeline too wrong.


End file.
